


Evil Eyes

by chamel



Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Din is a lightweight, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking Games, Drunken Flirting, Exes, F/M, Hangover, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamel/pseuds/chamel
Summary: Cara held her liquor better than he did, but she was still more drunk than he’d ever seen her. He watched as she chugged the rest of the bottle she was holding and then grabbed another full one and popped the top.“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. His voice seemed a lot more slurred than he expected.“Look,” she replied, pointing at him animatedly, “the more we drink, the less extra weight we have at takeoff, no?”(When Cara and Din play a drinking game, Din reveals more than he intends about his past relationships.)
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Hanging On For Dear Life: Songs of Cara Dune & Din Djarin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781008
Comments: 17
Kudos: 102





	Evil Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All! Back with another one shot in this album series. This has been sitting without an ending in my drafts folder for weeks, but I finally got around to wrapping it up. This song could have inspired another super angst fest, but I decided to try to go lighter. Couldn't stop _some_ angst from slipping in, though.

_And I’ve been burned so many times_  
_if you want a turn you better get in line_  
_So go on and hurt me and tell me lies_  
_‘Cause I got a thing for those evil eyes_

The only light that shone inside the Razor Crest was the soft blue glow of an instrument panel he couldn’t turn off. When they’d first arrived here it had seemed like far too little light to illuminate anything, but now, maybe an hour later, his eyes had adjusted. The panel’s light picked out the edges of the space and everything in it, including the two people who sat on the floor, a large collection of bottles between them.

Their orientation to the light meant that eventually he could discern the left edge of her jaw, the tip of her nose, a faint hint of the curve of her lips. Not the eyes—no, those were hidden in shadow. Undoubtedly she could see as much of his own face, which, to be fair, was not a lot.

He was far too drunk to care about such a minor transgression.

To his right, the crown of his helmet gleamed in the soft light. He tried to remember how they ended up here; how he allowed himself to lose control like this. It had been a very long time since he’d been drunk at all, and now he was stupifyingly blitzed.

He looked down at the bottles on the floor and the half-empty one in his own hand, and slowly he recalled where they had come from. It had been a normal resupply run until they’d stopped at the cantina for some food. They’d been running some competition—what was it? oh yes—knife throwing. Cara had managed to cajole him into participating with her, and they’d won handily. No surprises there.

The prize, as it turned out, was a large case of some local brew they were trying to get rid of. He’d been less than enthused, but they hauled it back to the ship and cracked a few in celebration after the kid had fallen asleep. It was surprisingly easy to drink and didn’t taste very alcoholic, so one bottle had turned into two, then three and four, and then suddenly he was very, very drunk.

Cara held her liquor better than he did, but she was still more drunk than he’d ever seen her. He watched as she chugged the rest of the bottle she was holding and then grabbed another full one and popped the top.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. His voice seemed a lot more slurred than he expected.

“Look,” she replied, pointing at him animatedly, “the more we drink, the less extra weight we have at takeoff, no?”

She had a point. He raised his bottle to his lips and gulped the rest of the sweet-tart liquid, its fruity flavor indistinct but inoffensive. Helpfully she uncapped another of the bottles for him and handed it over as he pushed his empty to the side, sending several others clattering to the floor.

“Shhhhh!” she scolded, and he could barely see her holding one finger up to her lips. “You’ll wake the kid.”

“He sleeps like the dead,” he muttered, but took her point and tried to more carefully move the empties to the side.

“It’s your turn,” she prompted.

They had, against his protests, been playing a drinking game. He was pretty sure he’d never played a drinking game before, so he had no idea if it was real game or if she’d just been making up the rules.

“We’ve been living together for a month and I feel like I know next to nothing about you,” she had said, back when they were both far more sober. “It’ll be fun. There’s a bunch of categories, and you drink the number that fits the category. Like if I said, ‘number of kids you have,’ you’d drink once, but I wouldn’t drink.”

“Are the categories pre-set?”

“Some are, but you can make them up.” The corner of her mouth twisted up into a smirk.

They had started out with things that were meaningless and impersonal, like ‘number of ice planets you’ve been to,’ but as the night wore on they were both getting bolder. She’d drained far more of her bottle than he did when she prompted ‘girls you’ve kissed,’ but he’d won handily in the ‘days between first date and first kiss’ category.

“Times you’ve had sex blindfolded,” he challenged.

Somewhere within him, he was mildly horrified that the words had come out of his mouth. He was normally such a private person, but not tonight. It wasn’t even just the alcohol, though that certainly played a large role. There was something about her, though, that seemed to be constantly tearing down the walls he’d so carefully constructed.

He saw the corner of her eyebrow twitch upward and spread her hands out in front of her, palms up. For his part, Din took a long, substantial drink, unable to keep himself from grinning stupidly. He was pretty sure that ‘winning’ the game did not involve taking the most drinks, but that’s how they’d ended up playing it.

“Hmmmm I guess I’ll have to rectify that,” she said when he’d finished, unmistakably leering at him in the dark. “Know anyone with a blindfold?”

He shrugged coyly, trying not to look at the drawer that held his. “Your turn,” he mumbled.

Cara made a show of thinking hard about the question. “Number of evil exes.”

“Hold on, what does an ‘evil ex’ entail exactly?”

“Someone that was more than a one night stand,” she defined, trying to suppress a slight hiccup. “Turned out to be a real asshole, though. Broke your heart. Bonus points if they turned out to be actually a bad person.”

Apparently she thought she’d win that one, but in that she was oh so wrong. After she had finished her long pull he was still going, thinking bitterly of the terrible relationships he’d had. Maybe she’d had more, but he guaranteed his had been worse. When he stopped drinking he could tell she was gaping at him.

“I can’t believe that,” she said, shaking her head. “How did that happen?”  
  
He shrugged. “I have terrible taste in women?”

She made a small, odd noise that almost sounded disappointed, but it was quickly covered by another hiccup. “Not all, surely?”

“No,” he admitted. “But almost.” He stared down into the darkness at the bottle in his hand, suddenly self-concious. He’d said too much.

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person,” she said quietly.

He snorted and took another swig of his drink. “I’m not sure that person exists.”

She started backwards, almost like she’d been struck. What was that about? He couldn’t see the expression on her face, but he could feel the tension all the same.

“You disagree?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

“It’s a big galaxy,” she said flatly, taking a drink of her own. She shook her head very slightly, as if to herself. “What about Omera? She didn’t seem like evil ex material.”

“She tried to remove my helmet,” he pointed out. “In broad daylight.”

“Oh. Right. Well, you shouldn’t give up. I’m sure there’s someone.”

“You applying for the position?” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even been concious of the thought. He froze, bottle halfway to his mouth.

Across from him, Cara was silent for a long moment. When she spoke her voice was hard. “Of what, your next evil ex?”

She stood abruptly and he scrambled up after her, desperately wishing he could take back the entire last ten minutes. She began turning away from him, turning toward the side door of the ship, and he grabbed her arm tightly to keep her from leaving.

“Cara, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that…”

She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Oh? And how _did_ you mean it?”

His jaw worked silently, trying to come up with the answer that he didn’t even know. “I didn’t… it was a bad joke. Please… please don’t leave.”

She sighed and he saw her face soften in the dim light. “I’m not leaving. I just need to take a walk and clear my head.”

“Can we talk about this?” he asked, still gripping her arm.

Covering his hand with hers, she pried his fingers open and released his grasp. Instead of letting this hand go, though, she squeezed it gently. “Tomorrow, when we’re not drunk.”

“I–I don’t know if I can talk about it when I’m not drunk,” Din mumbled, wincing.

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite topic of conversation either, but I think if we keep talking now both of us are going to say things we’ll regret.”

“Too late,” he replied miserably.

“Hey, walk with me?” she suggested suddenly. “The fresh air will be good for both of us.”

He hesitated. Fresh air did sound like a good idea. “But the kid…”

“He’ll be fine. We’ll put the defense system up on the ship.” She gave his hand another squeeze.

“Yeah, ok,” he agreed finally. Bending down, he grabbed his helmet off the floor and put it on.

The night was cool and crisp, and the area where they had set the ship was deserted. He felt better immediately, or at least less like his head was full of cotton. They walked in silence, shoulder to shoulder, and after a few moments he felt her hand brush his. Once, twice—it couldn’t be a cooincidence—and on the third time her fingers tangled with his for a moment. He waited for the next contact, but it didn’t come: she had folded her arms in front of her chest. He looked at her out of the corner of his visor but she stared steadfastly ahead. He tried to ignore the stab of disappointment in his gut.

“You don’t deserve it,” she said, shocking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”  
  
“I can tell, you think you deserve the evil exes. That you don’t deserve to be happy.” Her voice was melancholy and far away, like she was speaking half to him and half to herself.

“I thought we weren’t talking now.”

She shrugged lightly, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. It seemed that their roles had been reversed: now he wasn’t so sure that talking was a good idea. Putting his foot in his mouth again seemed inevitable. They walked a little further in silence while he tried to collect himself. His head was still swimming.

“How can you tell?” he asked, trying to keep the discussion away from his own feelings.

Cara glanced at him then ahead again, tightening her arms across her chest. “Because I thought that too, before. I had a lot of bad relationships. Figured I must have done something to deserve it. Now that I look back on it, I see how that’s a self-fulfilling curse. The more I thought I didn’t deserve to be happy, the more I got involved with people who were clearly going to hurt me in the end.”

He stared at her, amazed. She’d never been this candid about her relationships before. In fact, despite the jokes and innuendo, their past romances were the one topic that they did not discuss. It seemed safer that way.

“What changed?”

“I–uh,” she stammered, suddenly reticent again. She looked away, hiding her face, though he could see her bite her lip tentatively. “I met someone,” she finished, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.

He almost blurted out, ‘ _Who?_ ’ Almost. His mouth was open, lips pursed into an O, when he put his foot down wrong on the uneven cobblestones below them. He stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance, and he felt Cara grab his upper arm. She tried to haul him upright, but instead he succeeded in pulling her off balance as well. They lurched forward a few more steps until she managed to halt their collective momentum.

When they had finally stopped they both burst into laughter at the absurdity, and once they had started they couldn’t stop. Somewhere deep down he knew that they were drunk and it wasn’t that funny, but somehow that just made him laugh harder. Eventually, finally, their laughter slowed, turning into fits of random giggles.

Slowly he became aware that she was still holding onto him, his arm clutched tightly to her chest. His other hand had come to rest on her waist. Seemingly on their own, his fingers spread and his hand pressed into her side, and he reveled in the paradoxical feel of taught muscles and smooth curves through her thin shirt.

They were practically pressed together, wrapped in each other’s arms. The scent of her filled his helmet, the musk of the end of the day mingling with the sweet fruitiness of the alcohol on her breath. He could hear his own breath reverberating raggedly in his helmet, far more labored than could be explained by their laughter. Her gaze upon him was unreadable, or at least he couldn’t read it in his current state. But her full lips were ever so slightly parted, and he thought that he would have kissed her in this moment were it not for his helmet, an implacable barricade between them.

Then she shivered, her flesh trembling under his touch, and he recoiled his hand as if he’d been burned. They broke apart, their renewed laughter now taking a nervous timbre. Wordlessly they turned back toward the ship. Din tried to focus on not falling over but thoughts of her filled his mind—the scent of her, the feel of her body under his hand—and he nearly tripped again. This time when she tried to take his arm he waved her off.

“You’re right,” he said after they’d walked almost all of the way back. “Deep down, I could see it. Something in their eyes. In some twisted way I guess it was reassuring to know that it would end up the same way. I didn’t think I deserved to be happy. Not long term, anyway.”

“You do, though,” she answered quietly.

He looked at her, but she was staring fixedly ahead again. What had she said again? That she had met someone. He wondered who it was, but the moment to ask had passed. Whoever it was, they were a lucky sonofabitch.

“We both do,” he added, failing to keep the sigh out of his voice.

“Din,” she said abruptly, putting a hand on his arm.

He looked at her expectantly, but they’d arrived back at the Razor Crest and she shook her head, her mind apparently changed about whatever she’d been about to say. He opened the side ramp and they stumbled up into the still-dark ship. The ambient light from outside illuminated the space but when the ramp closed they were plunged back into darkness again. Their eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, and it was only thanks to the night vision mode on his helmet that he saw Cara heading straight for the collection of empty bottles on the ground.

“Cara, the bottles—!” he hissed.

Jumping forward, he grabbed her arm only inches from disaster; that much clattering would have certainly woken the kid. He pulled her back toward him and she just about collapsed into his arms. It was as if suddenly she was far more drunk than she’d been moments before. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and regain control of his spiking heartrate. She was probably just tired; they’d both do better getting some sleep.

She didn’t pull back, though, and instead it seemed like she was leaning into him. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he fought against the impulse to press his hands against her again. She stared at him, unmoving, until she apparently made up her mind about something. Ever so slowly, she reached up and put her hands on either side of his neck, pushing her fingers down into the folds of his cape and swiping her thumb across his pulse. His breath hitched.

“Cara,” he whispered.

She froze, but she didn’t withdraw. Clearly she was waiting for him to say something more, to tell her to stop, but he couldn’t make himself do it. She was drunk, and she didn’t know what she was doing—didn’t know what it implied. She couldn’t, not after what she’d told him earlier. He was setting himself up to get his heart broken again, but this time it would be entirely his fault.

“We shouldn’t…”

He could still see her face through his visor and she furrowed her brow. “Why?”

If he had an answer to this question, it fled his mind. He opened his mouth again, then closed it.

“I thought…” she said, still looking at him in consternation. “You said…”

“You don’t have to do this,” he answered as he reached up with one hand and grabbed her wrist lightly.

“I want this. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The word was so quiet, he was surprised she heard it. But apparently she did, because her hands shifted to the bottom of his helmet, pausing for a moment in a silent question. His hand slipped off her wrist and down her arm, sliding along her bare skin. Every so slowly, she lifted upwards, giving him every opportunity to stop her, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Even if this was a terrible idea, like all the rest of them, he wanted it so badly he could hardly breathe.

He was plunged into darkness when she finally removed the helmet and set it on a shelf next to them. Her hands returned to his neck, her thumbs pressed lightly against his arteries, no doubt feeling his racing pulse. He slid the hand on her arm slowly toward her shoulder and then across her clavicle, up her neck, to cup her jaw. His thumb traced a small circle over her cheek, feeling the indentation of a dimple. She was smiling.

“No fair,” he breathed, “your eyes have had longer to adjust.”

The dimple disappeared. “I can’t see your face, if you’re worried,” she answered in a whisper.

“I’m not.”

The dimple returned, and Din smiled back despite himself. Why couldn’t she see this was a bad idea? One of her hands slid up to his face and he felt her thumb skim lightly over his lips. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Cara,” he murmured, determined to try again. “I don’t think—” his voice broke off. He cursed at himself for being unable to say it. At this moment he couldn’t think of anything he’d ever wanted more, but if she was going to regret it in the morning, he just couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her hand returning to his neck.

Din took a deep breath. “You said, before, that you had met someone,” he answered carefully, forcing himself to say the words. “Someone who made you feel like you deserved to be happy. I don’t want to ruin… because you deserve to be with him—or her—I don’t want you to regret…”

The alcohol was sneaking up on him again. He struggled to finish a sentence, but before he could go further she put him out of his misery. He felt her finger press against his lips, halting whatever stupidity he was about to blurt out.

“It’s you, dummy,” she told him. The dimple in her cheek returned, deeper than ever.

He blinked in the dark. He had to have misheard her. He was frozen in place, his mind trying and failing to make sense of what she’d said.

“When you said that we both deserve to be happy, I thought you knew,” she explained. He felt her tip her head at him.

He shook his head lightly. “I, uh—no. I was just…”

“Being too chivalrous for your own good,” she finished. He could swear she was laughing silently at him.

He opened his mouth to say something but her arms tightened around his neck and she pulled him forward until their lips met. For a second he was frozen, his brain still not caught up to what was happening, but she took advantage of his open mouth to lick past his lips and his teeth. Suddenly he was kissing her back deeply, using the hand still clasped around her jaw to pull her mouth tightly against his. She tasted like the liquor they’d been drinking, fruity and sweet with the slightest bite of alcohol. As if to emphasize the latter, she nipped playfully at his lower lip, and the drag of her teeth elicited a low moan from deep within him.

When they pulled back for air he could feel her grinning widely, dimple deeper than it had been since they’d set off on this nearly-unbelievable course of action. A laugh bubbled up through his lips at the utter absurdity of his own idiocy; he had spent so much time miserable that he barely recognized happiness when it had barreled into his life and punched him full in the face.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, clearly confused by his outburst but still smiling.

He shook his head and leaned down to press his forehead to hers. “Nothing,” he breathed, “I think I found the right person.”

“You’re drunk,” she retorted, but fondly. She ran a hand through his curls and leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“I mean it,” he insisted. How could she think this had anything to do with his admittedly inebriated state? He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he’d had a revelation, like a mist had disappated from before his eyes.

“Tell me again in the morning,” she murmured, “if you remember.”

* * *

The cabin lights were entirely too bright when he woke in the morning. He clasped a hand over his eyes and fumbled blindly for the controls, and then was dismayed to find them already turned down to the lowest level. He groaned at the pain lancing through his head, trying to remember how he’d come to feel so wretched. A battle? Torture? Poison? The latter was closest to the truth, he understood with a dawning realization. He could still taste the fruity sweet liquor on his lips, soured and bitter from sleep.

Slowly he became aware of soft sounds from beyond the door to the compartment, the clatter of dishes and the kid’s soft cooing. Sitting up was a herculean effort, and his head swam nauseatingly. What else had happened, besides the drinking?

He dropped his head to his chest and squeezed his eyes closed, breathing in deeply. A scent that was unmistakably Cara’s faintly perfumed the air. Confused, he pulled up his shirt and sniffed cautiously; the aroma of her shampoo was stronger there, ground in like she’d spent the night in his arms. More of the night returned to him: bits and pieces of their conversations, the drinking game, the kiss. He smiled despite the fact that even that subtle movement set sparks of pain shooting off in his head.

After a few more minutes he finally felt stable enough to stand, although the moment he exited the compartment he regretted it. The light was much brighter, even with his helmet on, and the sounds were much louder. He grimaced, stumbling blindly toward the galley where he assumed the two of them were.

“Ah, he lives,” Cara said, too loud, although she was undoubtedly speaking at a normal volume.

Din cracked his eyes open to see her smirking at him, a spatula in her hand. Behind her something sizzled in a pan. The smell made his mouth water, though he couldn’t tell if that was because he was hungry or nauseaous.

“Very funny,” he croaked. “How are you this awake?”

She shrugged and turned back to her pan. “Guess you’re just a lightweight.”

Din huffed out a laugh, only wincing a little at the pain. He closed the distance between them, sliding up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. If he used her to keep from swaying, it was only barely, but she still shook her head at him.

“Maybe you should sit down,” she murmured, “before you fall down.”

He withdrew his arms, but only to pull his helmet off. Her back was to him, and he could no longer resist pressing his lips against her skin. He sat the helmet down on the counter next to them and slid his arms around her again, burying his face in her neck. She stretched her head to the side and hummed softly, pressing back slightly against his chest.

“I finally found the right person,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin, and he felt her tremble slightly beneath him.

Reaching backward, she slid a hand behind his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, kissing him tenderly. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for all your lovely comments! I'd love to know what you thought!


End file.
